


Zombie Hunters, Assemble

by ereshai



Series: Zombie Hunters, Assemble [1]
Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Deaf Clint Barton, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-14
Updated: 2014-10-14
Packaged: 2018-02-21 04:29:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2454746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ereshai/pseuds/ereshai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint has been traveling through the zombie-infested Midwest, alone except for his dog, Lucky.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Zombie Hunters, Assemble

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to [officialnatasharomanoff](http://officialnatasharomanoff.co.vu/), who very kindly answered my questions about writing deaf!Clint. I used [Lifeprint](lifeprint.com) for the sign language. Any inaccuracies in my portrayal are due to my own ignorance about which questions to ask, or misunderstanding the information I do have.  
> Everything I know about slingshots, I learned from the internet. Apologies for any mistakes there, too.  
> Written for the Zombie Fest 2014 Bonus Round.

The drugstore had been thoroughly looted. Even the useless crap – what were porcelain angels ( **1/2 price!!!** ) good for in an apocalypse? – was gone; Clint certainly wasn’t going to find any batteries, much less anything edible. There was a partial box of tissue under the service counter, and he took it, mostly on principle; he was going to get something out of this trip.

Lucky pawed at his leg, then stood facing the front of the store. Clint looked out over the low shelves. A figure stood in the empty frame that the floor to ceiling windows had once filled. It was facing the empty street, swaying back and forth. Great, he was going to die with only Kleenex to show for it. Not that he intended to die, but the possibility was there. Of course, the possibility had been there before the zombie had shown up; it was just…Kleenex. Clint grabbed his slingshot from his belt, pulled a marble out of his pocket, and fitted it into the pouch. He took careful aim, pulled back until the bands were stretched tight, and let fly.  The zombie stumbled forward, and collapsed to the ground.

Where there was one, there was usually more, and Lucky was still on alert, his ears perked. Clint fished out another marble and put it in place, holding it ready to aim and fire at a moment’s notice.

Someone stuck their head around the edge of the window frame and peered inside. Clint raised his slingshot, but he could already tell this person was alive. The man - older than Clint, with thinning brown hair – raised his hand in an awkward wave. Clint lowered his arms and nodded in response, but he didn’t put his weapon away. The damn zombies always showed up just when you thought you had a little breathing room.

The man scanned the street and then inside the store before stepping inside. Clint stayed where he was, keeping an eye on the street outside. He already knew the rest of the storefront was zombie-free, including the pharmacist’s counter, and the single door leading into the back was blocked off; Clint had decided to leave it that way. The man was approaching him slowly, keeping his empty hands in view. He stopped at the end of the aisle, a few yards away from where Clint stood. The guy wasn’t completely unarmed; he had a collapsible baton hanging from his belt. That was a good idea; Clint decided he should try to get one of his own.

The guy’s gaze kept flicking toward the back of the store, and Clint risked a look behind himself. Nothing. When Clint looked back at the man, he was in the middle of saying something. Clint didn’t catch any of it. He looked confused and a little worried, but before he could say anything else, Clint put the slingshot and ammunition away and with one finger, touched his face near his ear, then again by his mouth. _Deaf_. He didn’t have much hope that the guy knew sign language, so he followed up by tapping his ear and shaking his head.

The guy’s eyes widened with understanding, and he nodded. “What’s your name?” he asked, exaggerating his lip movements. Clint didn’t roll his eyes, though he was tempted. If they teamed up, he’d correct the guy’s misconceptions before they became bad habits. Clint had his own habits to work on; since it was just him and Lucky, and Lucky was trained to respond to hand signals, Clint had stopped speaking. Noise tended to attract zombies, anyway. He cleared his throat and said, “Clint.” He hoped he hadn’t been too loud; it didn’t feel like it. “Yours?”

Hesitantly, the guy raised his hand and started fingerspelling. ‘K’ – or was that a ‘p’? it could have been either one – ‘h’, ‘i’, and ‘l’.

“Phil?” Clint said aloud, just to be sure, and the guy nodded. “You live here?” He signed as he spoke.

Phil shook his head as he answered. “…pass-…through.” Another habit to work on. If they stuck together. Clint kinda hoped they would. Lucky was great, but Clint wouldn’t mind having another person around.

“Me, too.”

Phil’s eyes widened as he looked toward the back of the store again. Clint turned. This time, he saw the blockaded door now had a splintered hole in it. Shit. He turned back to Phil.

“Zombie there?” He signed ‘dead’ and ‘bite’ for zombie, it was faster than spelling it out. Phil nodded. “Let’s go.”

Phil led the way, and Clint let him. His stuff – a small backpack of supplies, a sleeping bag, and his bow and arrows – was stashed safely outside of town, and if Phil had a safe place close by where they could regroup, that was better. Besides, Phil couldn’t kill him for his stuff if he didn’t know where it was.

There was a trio of zombies at the end of the street. They were milling about, and hadn’t noticed the three of them as they slipped out of the small pharmacy. Phil ducked between two buildings – the space was too narrow to really be considered an alley. Luckily, it was empty.

At the end of the gap, there was an actual alley. On the other side of the dirt track that bisected the block they were on, there was a row of houses. They were facing the back yards, some fenced, all of them overgrown. Phil poked his head out and checked in both directions. Before he could step out, Clint stopped him and checked for himself. It looked clear, but there was a flicker of movement in one of the yards. He watched to see if it was repeated; the movement had been too deliberate to be caused by the wind.

Lucky pawed at his leg. Clint turned his head, and saw the three zombies from the street just entering the narrow gap behind them. Clint jumped out from between the two buildings, pulling Phil along with him, Lucky at their heels. His slingshot was already in his hand; he loaded a marble and took down the first zombie. It went down, and the other two stumbled over it in their attempt to get at him and Phil. Clint took a moment to check on Phil, and found him keeping an eye out for possible threats from every other direction, his collapsible baton in his hand, fully extended.

Clint turned back to the two approaching zombies. It was quick work to dispose of both of them, and he spared a few moments to make sure they stayed down. Zombies were hard to kill, and it didn’t take them long to get back up again if they were still viable. They didn’t move – there was a reason he had been billed as The World’s Greatest Marksman, after all.

Movement in his peripheral vision caught his attention. Phil was a few yards away, fighting off a zombie. He wielded the baton expertly, using it to deflect the zombie’s grabbing hands long enough to get alongside it and deliver a crushing blow to the base of its skull. It fell to the ground, and Phil delivered several heavy blows to its head. It did not move.

Phil looked up at Clint, his chest heaving, and nodded. Clint returned the gesture. “Where now?” he asked aloud. Phil gestured vaguely over his shoulder with his thumb.

Right at a group of zombies. Clint cocked an eyebrow and pointed. Phil looked behind him, and his shoulders slumped. He turned back to Clint and said, “Follow me.”

Phil took off, toward the zombies, and after some hesitation, Clint and Lucky were right behind him. Wherever they were going had to be close; Phil wasn’t stupid or suicidal, was he? Although that was a pretty big assumption to make about a guy he’d just met. Clint was trusting his instincts; they used to cause him all sorts of problems, but since the zombie plague had swept the world, they had actually been keeping him alive.

It was paying off this time, too. They ran through one of the unfenced yards and out onto an empty street. Parked in the middle of the street was a battered old car, one that had been modified to fit the world’s current circumstances. The windows were reinforced from the inside, and there was a plow blade attached to the front. Phil got in the driver’s door, and Clint hurried around to the passenger side. It was unlocked. He opened it and ordered Lucky into the back seat, then jumped in himself. Phil started it and peeled away.

Clint tapped his shoulder. “Can we get my stuff?” He could tell he was being loud, but he had no idea how much noise the engine was making, or if Phil had music playing or something.

Phil looked over at him. “Where?”

“That way.” Clint pointed the way they had come. “Out of town.”

Phil nodded. He glanced over at Clint again, and jabbed finger at him. “…belt.”

Clint looked down at himself; he wasn’t even wearing a belt, what did-oh. Well, Phil couldn’t exactly face him fully while driving like a bat out of hell. Clint pulled the seatbelt across his body and fastened it. Phil turned a corner, barely slowing down; Clint grabbed the door handle and hung on. A quick look in the back seat showed Lucky hunkered down in the footwell behind Phil’s seat. They got back on the main road through the town; they passed several zombies, who all turned to follow after them.

Being in the car seemed to alter the landmarks Clint had used to navigate his way into town; he had to pay careful attention in order to direct Phil to his camping spot. At least it was a fast trip this time. His camp was actually an abandoned shack on some farmland. It seemed deserted when they pulled up to it, but Clint let Lucky out to investigate first. Lucky sniffed around, then trotted back, unconcerned, so Clint and Phil got out.

It didn’t take long to gather up Clint’s things. As he bent over, he thought he could feel Phil’s eyes on his ass; a quick peek confirmed it. Huh. Maybe Phil wouldn’t object to conserving some body heat with him. It was starting to get cold at night.

But first, Clint needed to run a different idea past him. He dug a newspaper clipping out of his backpack, and showed it to Phil. It was tattered but readable, and it contained information about a team the government had put together to combat the zombie menace. It was months old.

“...themar..” Phil said as he read.

“What?”

Phil lifted his head this time. “Do you think any of them are still alive?”

Clint shrugged. “Maybe.” He tapped the picture that accompanied the article. It was of a small group of people, mostly soldiers and doctors. Clint pointed at a red-haired woman on one end. “I know her. Natasha. She’s tough.”

Phil handed the article back to him, a thoughtful look on his face. “Where, though?”

“New York City. Natasha told me.”

Phil shook his head. “That’s too big. We’d get killed.”

Clint pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket. He always made sure he had it with him. It was a list of directions to the base where Natasha had been stationed with the task force, including instructions on how to contact her.

“Is this a radio…?” Clint lost Phil’s last word, but he could guess what it was. He nodded.

“Well, I don’t have anything better to do.”

Clint grinned at him. He didn’t imagine it would be easy, not in any way, but things were looking a little brighter.

**Author's Note:**

> So, this could be the start of a series, where I gather the Avengers together to fight zombies.


End file.
